your next great mischief
by snapslikethis
Summary: James Potter's last night at home before he goes to Hogwarts. Potter family feels. Companion piece to "Your next great adventure," which is the same night from the quite different perspective of Lily Evans and her family.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
A/N: The companion piece to this – _your next great adventure_ – is listed under my account and chronicles Lily's last night at home with her parents.

Mrs. Potter bustled into her son's room, hoping that it would be tidied but not the least bit surprised to find it a complete disaster. Although the effect was somewhat lessened by the affectionate smile on her face, she chastised, "James, what have you been doing all evening? I send you up here to pack and tidy up three hours ago."

"Mum, you told me to stop making a nuisance of myself in the drawing room and to take care of my room. And earlier today, you told me my things are already packed."

His mother clarified, "Your school supplies, James, and your robes. What about your other things?"

Her son shrugged and asked, "What else would I need, mum? They'll feed me at school."

"Food, love-you think with your stomach, not unlike your father. _Things_ such as photographs, love. Don't you want any photos to remember your dear old mother and father over the next few months?"

James pulled a face, but she interrupted him before he could complete his scoff and get into trouble. "Other things, such as-the quaffle the entire PU team signed the summer before last? Your broomstick polishing kit, not to _mention _your broomstick. Your books, and don't pretend that you don't love them becau-"

"Well, yes, but Mum," James interrupted, as his patience had run out, "if you knew I'd want all that stuff, why didn't you just pack it for me?"

She rebutted. "Because you're _eleven_, James, and you're going to have to be a bit more responsible starting, let's say, _tomorrow_ at school."

"Hogwarts has elves, mum-dad told me as much."

Her mouth was a firm line, but the twinkle in her eyes conceded his victory. James swore he heard her murmur_ traitor _under her breath, but what he heard from her clearly was, "That's not the point, and you know it, love."

James, feeling a bit _too_ confident, arched an eyebrow and tried to suppress the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he insisted, "But that's _tomorrow_, Mum, and this is my last night at home. Can't we do it in the morning?"

"No. Now, James." Mrs. Potter insisted in a tone of voice which implied that his mother's good graces and ended and which James knew not to disobey.

James reluctantly began to sort through the scattered mess. He started a pile on the bed-his broom, first, and the polishing kit, his quaffle, the photograph album his mother had made-which he would never admit, but was very grateful for. He was also thankful for her help, not because he couldn't pack on his own, because he could really, but because he was going to miss her-Again, not that he'd admit it. Instead, he asked her, "Mum? What are you going to do around here all day without me to muck things up?"

"You don't muck things up, love. You keep me on my toes. That's an important distinction to make. And I've plenty to keep me busy-the society, and committee meetings, volunteering at St. Mungo's. You know, same old boring stuff."

"Oh."

"I'll miss you though, darling, no worries there. I'll write as often as you want. And I'll send you biscuits and fudge every week." She added, a bit slyly, "If you'll let me-that is. It wouldn't do to embarrass you in front of your new your dorm mates by sending too many packages. I understand if you want me to keep my distance."

"No, no. Send as much as you want, mum, as often as you want," James answered, a bit too eagerly, which elicited a chuckle from his mother. He wasn't ruffled, however, because _sweets_ were involved and it was very important that she understand his stance on the matter. "You never have to ask about sending me sweets."

"Absolutely, love," she promised, the smile still lingering on her face.

They worked in companionable silence, but eventually Mrs. Potter noticed her son's nose scrunched up, a single crease mark formed between his eyebrows. She inwardly braced herself, for she recognized his _I'm-working-things-out-in-the-deep-recesses-of-my- brain-and-I'm-about-to-blindside-you-with-a-questi on-and-it-could-be-anything _face. She was presently surprised, however, when the inquiry was, simply, "Mum, could you please tell me about the houses again?"

"Sure thing, darling," Mrs. Potter replied, knowing they'd had this conversation umpteen times, but not minding in the least. "There are four, remember? Ravenclaw-they're very intelligent, knowledge and wisdom and all that. You're not clever enough for them-don't worry about that. Slytherin-"

"Mum, that's mean, I'm brilliant. And I don't want to hear about _Slytherin_," James cut across his mother, a look of pure loathing on his face. "I meant for you to tell me about the others."

"I was teasing, James, you're the cleverest boy I know. But you must be polite-you'll have to live with Slytherins for seven years. It won't do to have that attitude. Also, boys with many questions ought not to be choosy with their answers, and they ought not interrupt their mothers if they expect her to continue. Alright?"

James knew that when his mother said "ought not" he was being properly rebuked. He mumbled an apology and-to his credit, tried to replace the look of distaste on his face with a repentant one. He wasn't entirely successful, of course, but his mother beamed at the effort.

She rewarded him by continuing on with his favorite: "Gryffindor-a bit of a showoff streak in them, that lot, but brave, if that's your cup of tea. And, of course, Hufflepuff, where dwell the loyal and kind."

At this, James scoffed, again interrupting. "Mum, that's _not_ true. The Hufflepuffs are a bit poncy-leastwise, that's what cousin Edward said over Christmas. And you're stealing dad's line. It's supposed to be, _'Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart.'"_

"_That is how it goes, son_," his father confirmed upon entering the room. "But you're forgetting, I think, that your _mother_ was a Hufflepuff."

Oops-James had forgotten that fact, or he wouldn't have spouted off about what stupid cousin Edward said. While he couldn't quite meet her eye, he knew without looking that her eyebrows were raised and her face wore a rather affronted expression. He managed an effective, "Sorry, mum." This time, the shame was genuine. He felt the need to clarify, "Also, you're _not_ a ponce."

At this, his mother and father both cracked smiles; James realized he wasn't actually in trouble.

"Just remember, darling, that tomorrow only a quarter of your classmates will be in your house-which I've no doubt will be Gryffindor, as your heart desires it so-but you've got to get on with the rest of them, yes? It won't do to spout off like that on the train."

"Sure thing, mum. I won't. Except-please don't make me promise that about Slytherin."

His mother knew, after eleven years of parenthood, when to pick her battles. This, she decided, was well enough to let alone. She didn't want to fight with her boy-her miracle child, who had in many ways been her dearest companion for the past decade and a bit more, in one way or another-on the night before he left.

Instead, she drew James into her arms and gave him a tight squeeze, which he returned in full. He didn't protest-he had been raised at an early age never to scorn a worthy woman's affections-especially his mother's. She kissed the top of his head and wondered how much taller he would be when he came home in December. With her voice a bit constricted, she murmured into his messy hair, "I love you, dear. Try to get some sleep tonight, alright?"

"Sure thing, mum. I love you." James whispered this into his mother's shoulder, so quietly she could barely make it out. Although he would never admit it-and she would never ask him about it-there may have been a bit of dampness on her robes after they broke away.

"I'll leave you boys be. Don't make a bigger mess, don't unpack everything we've put in your trunk-even your quaffle-and don't stay up too late." Neither Mr. Potter nor James ventured to guess which of them she was talking to; it was understood by all that she was addressing the room at large. They both grinned sheepishly-the same grin, Mrs. Potter thought with a smile-and left the room before the tears started slipping down in earnest.

Mr. Potter's gaze followed after his wife, but knowing that she wanted to be alone to have a good cry, he turned to his son. "Excited, James?"

"Absolutely. I've been waiting for years, dad. Ages."

He chortled at his son's exaggeration and made another inquiry. "Did you learn any new spells today?"

"Sure. I've already read through the spell book. I went into your library and grabbed-"

"The entire book, _already_?"

James replied, "I've had it for two months, you know. I read it in the first two weeks."

Mr. Potter took this in stride; it wasn't the first time he'd heard of his son reading a thick volume in record time-it only bothered that his sons propensity for reading had less to do with a desire to learn and more to do with sheer boredom. James, most of the time, didn't realize what he was missing growing up, and neither did his wife-also a lone child. She had many friends and made her rounds with James. Their son had been around children often enough, but it wasn't the same as having a constant companion-a sibling, like he himself had growing up. It pleased him greatly to think that his son might perhaps, by this time tomorrow, have already made a friend or two.

"Are you excited, son, to make new friends?"

At this prospect, James's eyes lit up. "Absolutely, dad. I hope I make loads."

"Think before you speak, and I'm sure that you will." Mr. Potter said this affectionately rather than reprimanding, and he tousled his son's hair.

"Are you nervous?" Mr. Potter inquired.

"No!" James immediately replied, a bit too loudly and defensively to be believed.

"You know," his father pressed, cautiously, "It _would_ be okay if you were a bit nervous."

"But Gryffindors are _brave, _dad. Not pansies."

"Now, now, James. There's a difference. Remember that boggart just last week?"

"Sure. The one that gave mum fits?"

"Right, what'd you do?"

"I ridikkulused him away."

"You certainly did." His father smiled broadly before continuing, "Now, tell me. Weren't you the least bit nervous about it? Even if you knew what it was you were facing."

"Well, yeah, but only a little."

"Right. But you did it anyway."

James saw straight away the point his dad was making and conceded, "Alright, dad-fair point. I _might _be a bit nervous about tomorrow. But don't tell mum, okay?"

"Our secret," his father promised. "It's perfectly normal to be nervous-if only a little bit. You'll have a lot of changes tomorrow, but mostly good, yes?"

"Definitely."

"Do you want to know another secret?"

"Is it sappy, or is there a lesson involved?"

"There's that mouth again," his father said, not unkindly. "But if you don't want to know where the Hogwarts kitchens are, I understand."

James gulped at the prospect of missing this very important tidbit of information. He protested, "No, no, dad, I _want _to know."

"You're right, James. I think it'd be best-"

"Dad, _please_-"

"to wait a few months-"

"-I didn't mean it."

"-until you're more mature-"

"-I _need_ to know-"

"-or have, at the very least, _earned _the knowledge."

James sighed in frustration, plopping down on the bed in a huff. "You're really not going to tell me?"

His father mirrored his posture on the bed and confirmed, "No, I'm not." He leaned in conspiratorially, "I will, however, make you a deal."

No stranger to his father's conspiracies, James nodded for him to continue.

"If you can-keep your grades up, write your mum every week, keep it under five detentions-"

"-_ten_-"

"-_seven_, detentions this term. And, pay attention here, James, if you can come back to me with the location of at least _two _secret passages at midterm holidays, I will not only reveal the location of the kitchens, but I will consider giving you my cloak."

"Your _invisibility _cloak. Really, dad?" James was positively beaming at this prospect.

"I said I would consider it. There are at least a dozen passages in that castle, I know five for cert. You've found all of them in this house; I'm sure you can manage to find two in the whole of Hogwarts by Christmas."

"You are the best, dad, an absolute brick."

"Yes, well, thank you." His father smiled, but then leaned in and lowered his voice, "I think it's safe to say that we keep this between us, yes? Your mother is probably better off not knowing what kind of behavior I'm encouraging."

James, realizing the stakes, nodded solemnly and promised. "I swear." Then his nose scrunched up and Mr. Potter, recognizing that face, steeled himself for whatever question was about to be launched at him. He was touched, but not surprised, to hear his son ask, "Dad, do you think mum will cry tomorrow?"

He looked at his son gravely and nodded. "Undoubtedly."

"Will _you_ cry?"

"Most likely. It's a big deal for us, you know." After a moment, his father asked, "Will you?"

"No!" James protested-again, too quickly to be believed.

"You know, son. It would be alright if you did."

"Thanks, dad. Really, but I don't want to. That is to say, I'm going to try not to. Don't be offended if I don't cry, alright?"

Mr. Potter leaned in and wrapped his son in a gruff hug. "Sure thing, son, sure thing."

"I love you, dad."

"I love you, too, James." After a moment, James broke the hug and tried to stifle a yawn. Mr. Potter, glancing at his watch, realized the time and stood up. "Try to get some rest, alright? I'll see you, well, in a few short hours."

"G'nite, dad."

"G'nite." Mr. Potter stopped at the doorway and looked at his son-his son, whom he adored, who was the perfect blend of his two parents, and who, currently, showed absolutely no signs of going to sleep any time soon.

He felt the need to add, before closing the door, "James, don't look for too much mischief tonight, alright? Normally-you know me-I'd say full steam ahead. But, we've a busy morning and need our sleep. Besides, you'll have plenty of opportunities to find some with your new mates starting tomorrow."


End file.
